


You Better Work

by airspaniel



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Model, Fashion & Couture, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-13
Updated: 2011-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-24 14:14:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airspaniel/pseuds/airspaniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Shutter clicks underscored the terse orders from the silver-haired man in charge, as he gestured towards the bodies on the floor.  Lestrade had called in a favor, practically begging Sherlock to work on his latest shoot for Vogue, anticipating London Fashion Week.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	You Better Work

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://sherlock-ldws.livejournal.com/profile)[**sherlock_ldws**](http://sherlock-ldws.livejournal.com/) week five. Prompt: AU
> 
> Not gonna lie, I could probably write another ten thousand words of this ridiculousness.

" _You're_ my personal assistant," Sherlock said dubiously, looking down at John with a critical eye.

"Security, actually," John corrected, and one perfect eyebrow arched in surprised curiosity. John manfully resisted the urge to tug at the sleeve of his jumper.

"Mycroft's idea?"

John nodded. “He said something about ‘preemptive damage control.’”

Sherlock huffed. “He’d be better off exercising some _portion_ control.”

“Maybe just some exercise,” John said wryly, and Sherlock smiled, pleased.

"Tell me, John. What do you know about fashion?"

\-----

Shutter clicks underscored the terse orders from the silver-haired man in charge, as he gestured towards the bodies on the floor. Lestrade had called in a favor, practically begging Sherlock to work on his latest shoot for Vogue, anticipating London Fashion Week.

Before, John never would've thought of putting on clothes as "work," but living with a high-profile model had changed that very quickly. Erratic hours, diligent research, extensive knowledge of angles, of lighting, of fabrics and composition; all were necessary to the job. "Everything else is... transport," Sherlock said.

The fact that said transport was all long, lean lines and pale skin, ice-blue eyes and cheekbones sharp enough to cut a man probably didn't hurt, either.

“He’s too short,” Sherlock nodded toward Lestrade's current subject - Jim Moriarty, darling of the House of Westwood. “Vivienne only dotes on him because he’s just as disturbing and bizarre as she is."

"Wears that suit well," John shrugged, and Sherlock looked betrayed.

"Whose side are you on? Give me your phone."

"Where's yours?"

Sherlock sighed impatiently, the movement of his chest drawing John's attention to how bare it was, down the flat plane of his stomach, the jut of his hipbones visible over the waistband of exquisitely fitted James Small trousers.

John blushed slightly, and put his phone in Sherlock's hand.


End file.
